


Steamroller

by ohmybgosh



Category: The Sisters Brothers (2018), The Sisters Brothers - Patrick deWitt
Genre: Chemical Husbands, First Kiss, They love each other, cannot stop thinking about how tender these two prospectors are, cannot stop thinking about warm calling Morris a “gay little baby” are u kidding me, forever living in a fantasy world where these two live long happy and gay lives together in Texas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: John made a sound, less of a whimper and more of a sad sigh.“Mmmmph.”“You’re dreaming, Morris,” Hermann said softly.
Relationships: John Morris/Hermann Kermit Warm
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Steamroller

**Author's Note:**

> Could not stop thinking about how the song Steamroller by Phoebe Bridgers is such a good song for these tender prospectors T.T

Hermann Kermit Warm woke to whimpering. 

Though his eyes flew open, he saw only dark, save for a small sliver of light glinting through the tent flap that whistled in the wind, despite his best efforts at double knotting it closed. John tended to get cold at night. 

Bleary but alert, he sat up on his sleeping mat, straining his ears. The wind whipped at their tent, fierce and unforgiving tonight. The river flowed outside, close to their camp. 

Perhaps it was just a beaver, he thought. They had been bold the past few days; fiddling around the chemical casks so much that Hermann threatened to shoot them with his baby dragoon. The look on John’s face was enough for Hermann to stow away his pistol, which he would’ve only used to scare them off anyway. The biggest beaver, though, who looked to be the head honcho, stole one of John’s nice knitted socks the other night, and John’s attitude towards them soured. One sock on, shirt half tucked in, he shouted at the group of beavers on the river bank, who slunk into the water victorious, and Hermann couldn’t help but laugh as John threw a rock unsuccessfully at the ripples in the river where they’d disappeared. 

Another whimper interrupted Hermann’s fond recollection. Fully awake now, eyes adjusting to the night, he realized it came from the cold floor beside him.

John was curled up in his blankets. He had Hermann’s own wool hat pulled over his messy hair. His face scrunched up painfully, brows knitted in his sleep, lips pursed. He cried out again in his sleep, curling into himself, shivering. 

“Oh, John,” Hermann whispered, though he knew John wouldn’t hear him. Which was all the same, as the tender way he cradled John’s name in his mouth was privy to Hermann only. To John’s ears, John was just a name and not an admiration, and Hermann wasn’t sure when he’d be ready, or whether he’d ever be, to let John hear the way he caressed his name in his thoughts. 

Hermann pulled his mat closer to his companion. He settled beside him, readjusting his own blanket so that it covered the both of them. 

After a moment’s hesitation, studying John’s pained face, the sounds of the world around them fading as Hermann’s heartbeat stuttered in his ears, he lifted a hand to John’s cheek. 

John’s breath faltered. Hermann stroked a shaky line down the side of John’s face, starting at the tip of Hermann’s woolen hat and tracing down his temple, his furrowed brow, his soft cheek and wiry beard. 

John made a sound, less of a whimper and more of a sad sigh. 

“Mmmmph.”

“You’re dreaming, Morris,” Hermann said softly. 

John’s eyelids fluttered. Hermann’s hand on his cheek stilled, and he wondered whether or not he should pull it back. 

“Hermann?”

“I’ve got you.”

He couldn’t see whether or not John’s eyes opened, as John ducked his chin to his chest in embarrassment at being discovered. 

Hermann moved his hand to John’s shoulder, his palm pressing gently again John’s warm skin. 

“Are you cold?” 

John, though not as thin as Hermann, had trouble at night, fingers and toes always turning purple. He tried not to complain but sometimes the temperature bothered an old injury in his knee, sometimes the nippy air gave him a headache. He was not accustomed to the wilderness like Hermann was, a fact that he, Hermann, found oddly endearing. He couldn’t stop smiling at John, John with his minty toothbrush every morning and who looked close to tears when Hermann told him they wouldn’t have room to carry all those rosy scented soaps on the road. 

“Mmm,” John said under the blankets. 

Hermann drew him closer, his hand finding its way to the small of John’s back. 

The top of John’s head, under Hermann’s hat, brushed Hermann’s chin, itchy, and Hermann turned his head so that his cheek rested against the crown of John’s head. 

“Better?” 

John’s fingers found their way to Hermann’s hip, and he winced slightly at the icy feeling against his skin. 

“I thought you’d gone,” John said, muffled. 

“Where would I go?” 

“I dreamed you were gone,” John said, and something in his voice and the way a shiver tumbled down his spine made him press his face into Hermann’s chest, drawing a shaky breath. 

“Not without you.”

John mumbled something, inaudible. 

“Hmm?”

He lifted his head, mouth close to Hermann’s neck now, and he wondered whether or not John could feel how his pulse jumped at the way his lips brushed Hermann’s skin for the briefest moment. 

“You mean that?”

“Oh,” Hermann breathed, and he curled his fist at John’s back, gripping his shirt as if to hold him tighter. “John.”

He hadn’t meant to say it that way, Hermann’s private way, with the hitch in voice and the tears that prickled in his eyes. But there it was, no going back, and, as Hermann had always thought himself rather brave, he said it again. 

“John. Never without you.”

John shivered again. His hand, still cold, pulled Hermann closer, so that John’s knee slipped between Hermann’s thighs. He froze a moment, cheeks burning knowing John could feel Hermann’s need for him now. 

John, ever so polite, said nothing of it, kissing Hermann’s neck. His lips were chapped, his beard tickled Hermann’s skin a little uncomfortably, but it was still the best feeling Hermann had ever experienced. Better even then his first successful prospect. 

Hermann pushed his cap off John’s head, desiring above all else to touch every inch of him, and he slid his fingers through John’s slightly tangled hair. 

John made a sound, another whimper but not in pain nor fear this time. He looked up at Hermann, blinking those delicate blue eyes of his. Hermann thought of the first time he looked into John’s eyes, how he thought he would get lost in them, his long lashes and his smile that lit up his whole face and lingered with genuine joy. 

Hermann, smiling at John with adoration, brushed John’s hair behind his ear and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

Things he wanted to say fluttered in his chest like moths to a flame, making the very tips of his fingers tingle. How to tell John how he felt? How to convey how much John’s friendship meant to him, how to explain that Hermann’s heart was near bursting with love for John? 

“John,” he said weakly. 

“Mmm?” John smiled at him now, crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“Are you, are you comfortable?”

John dipped his head again, nuzzling into Hermann’s chest. 

“I am now.” 

Hermann pressed his nose into John’s hair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He smelled like ash, sweat, and river water. Not like his delicate soaps, and John sometimes fretted over the way he smelled but Hermann thought to himself that John could smell like anything and it wouldn’t change how Hermann desired every waking moment to cradle his companion in his arms. 

John made a little sound, a sleepy sigh. His hand at Hermann’s side slipped lower, hooking under Hermann’s knee and hitching his leg up to cover John’s hip. 

“Hermann,” he sighed, and rocked against him lazily, half awake, half hard. 

Hermann trailed his fingers along John’s scruffy jaw, gently tipping his chin up, hoping to steal a kiss before John drifted off. 

John’s eyelids fluttered closed, as if he struggled to keep them open, but his lips quirked up in a smile. 

_ Dear John _ , Hermann thought, thankful John’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the tears in the corners of Hermann’s own. 

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Hermann did, brief and tender. 

“Sleep,” he said, and John nodded, resting his head again against Hermann’s chest. 

“You’ll stay with me?”

Hermann kissed the top of his head. 

_ Oh, John _ .

“How could I be anywhere without you?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ohmybgosh if you want to cry with me over them :3


End file.
